


I’m The One (With a Healthy Dose of Disillusion)

by Ourladyofresurrection



Series: BFU Requests [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: # But he won’t admit it, # They were smoochin, Also Shane’s a detective and it’s hot, Fluff, He’s given him smoochies, M/M, Psychic!Ryan, Ryan’s a bit of a dumbass, but I love him, dumbasses to lovers, ghoul friends, psych au, ryan bergara - Freeform, shane loves ryan, shane madej - Freeform, shyan, skeptic believer, so does shane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 13:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18624229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ourladyofresurrection/pseuds/Ourladyofresurrection
Summary: "I'm a psychic," Ryan blurted out, his brown eyes shining brightly up at Shane.Shane just about choked on his own saliva, "What?"~Ryan’s a psychic. Shane is a tired detective trying to solve the first murder in 50 years in his small town just inside of Schaumburg. Shane thinks Ryan is bullshitting him. Ryan thinks Shane is an asshole...also, he might be crushing on the skeptic, but that’s besides the point. (Psych! AU.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaematriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaematriel/gifts).



Fluff/Crack

 

This was requested by the lovely @/bluejaii on Tumblr. I don't know much about Psych and have never actually watched it, so hopefully I don't butcher it too badly.

In any sense, enjoy!

 

Shane Madej cracked his knuckles deftly, his joints letting out a series of frankly, alarmingly loud pops. A dull jolt of pain shot up his wrist in sympathy, and he was almost glad for the physical sensation to focus on.

Things down at the station had been quiet, almost too quiet. Normally, a man like Shane wouldn't have minded the quiet— after all, he frequented the clearing of woods just a few blocks away, on Senburry Lane, every weekend. Well, he had, that is. 

Ever since news broke that a murderer was running rampant throughout their suburban stretch of conurbation, people had been properly spooked. While people seldom leaving their houses was not exactly an aberration in their relatively rural town, the unsettling undertone the air had taken on most certainly was. And even Shane, as sceptical as he may be, wasn't stupid.

Murder was a very real fear and now, a valid, looming threat breathing down the necks of all five-hundred citizens that were cursed enough to live there.

Look, it's not like the people of the small Chicagoan town were prudes— far from it. But the crime rates were astonishingly low in the little slice of land, a stark contrast against the notoriously sketchy city. 

It's like someone had painted a little sparse picturesque scene, framed it, and hung it up on the wall for decades, completely untouched. Then, all in one night, the glass had shattered right off the frame, inexplicably, their once seemingly untouchable slice of life vandalized.

The worst crime that had happened in twenty five years before this was someone snapping the locks off local toolsheds ad nauseum, so naturally, people were a little unsettled when the body turned up.

Chaos didn't exactly ensue in a typical end-is-nigh manner. In fact, to anyone not from Schaumburg would probably think nothing of the newfound tone the town had taken on. But, to Shane, the nation's greatest tragedy, born and raised on the very soil he now resides on, the tension was almost deafening.

You see, the town was mostly populated by old people. After all, who else but those who were hardened and jaded after upwards of seventy years of being around people would retreat to the dullest corner of the Earth?

Shane, apparently, because he was clearly a masochist, but not to stray from the point at hand: gossip travelled fast, furious, and downright dirty. That hadn't really changed at all, except now instead of 'who fucked who' it's more a matter of 'who disembowelled a thirty year old man and left his guts in the woods?'

Shane gagged inside the confines of his own maw, now tasting overwhelmingly bitter. He was no lightweight, he had stomached more slasher movies than anyone he knew, but this site was truly gruesome. As Sheriff of the one and only detective office, Shane had the sparkling joy of being an on-site witness.

He remembered he had been having it out with his coworker, Brent when his associate Andrew called him.

"Shane, man. You gotta get over here right now," he had breathed shakily.

"What?" Shane had asked, having not done any field work for the past two months.

"It's...down by Senbury...they found a body."

Shane had knocked over his coffee, hardly realizing as it began to spill hotly over the ground, pulling his tie taut, slipping on his tan trench coat, and going well above the speed limit in his car.

Shane wishes, thinking back on it, that he had gone a bit slower, or idled in his car for just a minute. One last bit of life before his perception on it had shattered, sending jagged pieces of it tumbling haphazardly to the wind.

He was getting along just fine, really. But he'd be lying if he didn't say he hesitated now before turning around dark corners. His usual movie nights were getting earlier and earlier, and he couldn't even blame it on having to wake up for work the next day, because that had never stopped him. He felt jumpy sitting near windows, half expecting a face to appear. He'd woken up with a start a couple times, retching in the sink. 

It was...it was rough.

As the Sheriff, people wanted answers, and they expected Shane to have them. The stress was starting to get to him, admittedly. He just wanted it to be over with.

It wasn't all doomed, as it seems. Recently, the county proposed they investigate a man of the name of Ryan Bergara. He'd called in a tip about the murder, knowing all too much about the case to not be subject to extreme suspicion.

In a town of five-hundred people, each one as secretive and shady as the last, trying to pick out a suspect was like finding a needle in a haystack. Admittedly, terribly, Shane was getting really close to the point of willingly incarcerating a man just to end the point of the matter, to quiet things down.

As if on cue, Andrew ushered a short-statured tan man into his office, closing the door behind him with a click, leaving Shane to deal with suspect number one of five-hundred.

The man rubbed at his arm, inexplicably, in a t-shirt that hugged his shoulders and pecs boastfully. A bold statement for a Schaumburg autumn. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, squirrely even, but not incriminating.

He sure was goofy looking, looking sheepish if anything. Oh, this was gonna be good.

Shane loosened his tie, letting it drape casually against his button down, rolling the sleeves.

When met with a wide gape, he gestured for Ryan to take a seat.

"So," he leaned over the desk, flipping through his file, "Ryan Bergara. Do you know why you're here?"

Ryan opened his mouth to answer, but Shane interrupted, "I'll tell ya why, Ryan. You called into our office at 1 am the night the body was discovered with some incriminating information. Not gonna lie, you helped manifest some sense into the case— you sure knew a lot," Shane leaned forward, "almost a bit too much?"

Ryan gulped, scratching at the back or his neck.

Shane stifled a laugh at his squirrely expression, this Ryan figure clearly wasn't a legitimate suspect. He looks like the kind of person who would stutter placing their order at Starbucks.

Ryan's mouth went to form some kind of response, but Shane held up a finger, "I'm gonna be frank with you, Bergara— I don't think you did it."

Ryan's eyes widened as abruptly as a crack of thunder, "You don't?!"

Shane quirked an eyebrow.

"I mean," Ryan coughed, "damn right I didn't! What's the fuckin' hold up?!"

Shane took a sip of his coffee, eying the man over the rim of the cup, "Hey there, Mouthy. 'Doesn't mean you get off scott-free, and I don't reckon that's any way to talk to a Sheriff."

The badge on his hip winked pointedly as lazy sunlight poured through the window, Ryan blinking rapidly and clearing his throat awkwardly under Shane's steely gaze.

"Right. Uh, sorry uh—"

"Madej," Shane finished, nudging his engraved desk plaque with his knuckle, "Shane Madej."

Ryan looked nervous.

Shane stifled a laugh. Oh, how little joy there had been in his life as of late, he couldn't help but poke fun at a man like that. He was practically asking for it.

"You're not a suspect," Shane repeated, slinking back into his seat.

Like a cat, Ryan remarked to himself.

"We would however," he said, twirling a pen in between his fingers, "need to know how you knew of the crime hours before it was first reported, with substantial pieces of non-circumstantial evidence, in gruelling detail."

Ryan swallowed, seeming suddenly fascinated with his sneakers.

"Cat got your tongue, Bergara?" Shane drawled.

Okay, maybe now he was outdoing himself a little. 

Nevertheless, Ryan flushed dusty rose all the way up to his ears. Clearly, Shane must be doing something right.

"Well, then. Should I spin you a yarn of what I think happened?"

Ryan scratched at the nape of his neck noncommittally.

Shane pushed his sleeves further into the crook of his elbow, leaning over the desk into Ryan's personal space, his tie grazing the polished mahogany wood, a loose strand of hair falling over his forehead.

"I think maybe you were taking a little walk in the woods," Shane murmured, practically gleaming at the look on Ryan's face, "maybe going for a midnight walk...you seem like the kind of idiot to walk in secluded areas at strange hours..." he cocked his head, "feeling some post-booze guilt after downing a few too many brewskis?"

Shane breathed a bated breath, "You saw the body. Saw something you shouldn't-a seen. Freaked out a little, ran home, convinced yourself you imagined things. You seem like the kinda man to let him emotions overtake his sense of judgement," he said thoughtfully.

Ryan's breath hitched as Shane suddenly pulled back, their noses nearly bumping a second before, Shane's breath too close on his neck. This guy sure knew how to interrogate.

Jesus Christ.

Shane planted a hand on his side, continuing, "But the guilt was too much, wasn't it? You couldn't stop thinking about the body all furled in on itself, ghastly pale and gutted. So you called in a tip, just to warn the authorities in a non-incriminating way. But that didn't work, did it? Caller ID ratted ya out, and now you're here."

Shane straightened his back, relatively pleased at his hypothetical account of the night.

"I'm a psychic," Ryan blurted out, his brown eyes shining brightly up at Shane.

Shane just about choked on his own saliva, "What?"

"I—" Ryan started, "it's a gift..."

"A gift," Shane echoed, unamused.

"Yeah, man. When I was younger, I was playing hide and go seek. I climbed up a tree, and the branch broke, and I fell into a pile of bricks. Ever since then, I've been able to...see things. Ever since then, I've had the Vision."

Shane picked at the dirt under his fingernails, reclining back in his seat, "Hate to break it to ya, Bergara. But most people can see things."

Ryan spluttered, his face quickly marooning, just the same as Shane was now marooning him with his little tale, "I-I'm serious, man!"

Shane sighed, "I'm sure you are, and that’s what’s worse. Look, stay there, clearly you're in some kind of delusion. Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" he got up out of his chair and started walking towards the door, presumably to call a doctor.

Ryan doesn't know if the genuine concern lacing his voice was making him more or less affronted. He caught Shane's arm, looking up at him determinedly, "I'm not crazy."

The Sheriff peered down at Ryan, glancing briefly at Ryan's tan fingers locked over his wrist, digits twitching restlessly against the warm hum of his skin, "Never said you were, Bergara."

"You looked at me like I was."

Shane sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat, "Look, you can go now. However you got the information, that's your secret. You're not a legitimate suspect."

Ryan furrowed his brows, staring up at Shane scrutinizingly, "You look like a guy who needs a drink."

Shane rolled his eyes, "And you look like a guy who got wrongly indicted for a crime by being a complete dumbass."

Harsh, Ryan thought, shaking his head, "I'll tell you everything I know. I'll help you find the guy, man," he said earnestly.

Shane let out another drawn-out, suffering sigh that Ryan felt through his fingertips, which were still pressed against Shane's pulse, boring white indents into his wrist.

"Fine," he conceded, "but you're paying."

 

***

 

Halfway into their discussion at a nearby coffee shop, Shane had been amply satisfied with the new intake of information Ryan was sharing with him. Of course, how reliable could a man be if he claimed to be psychic? Nevertheless, information was information, and of that, Shane had none.

"So," Ryan said suddenly, "is this a date?"

Shane choked on his coffee, bringing his hand to his mouth to catch the overspill, "What? No! Do you typically spend dates talking about murder?"

Ryan shrugged, "I mean, yeah."

Shane groaned, throwing his head in his hands. This was gonna be a long day.

 

***

 

Five months later, and Ryan had become an unofficial member of the Sheriff's department, continuing his studies in cinema and video while Shane trained him in the meantime.

They had truly worked into a kind of flow, a kind of routine. Ryan, as ridiculous as he seemed, was actually a bright guy, and was a huge help to Shane. They had found the murderer within two weeks of recruiting Ryan, and had even been going out of town to solve other mysteries. 

Shane hates to say it, but Ryan was turning out to be kind of his best friend.

“Well then, Bergara,” Shane said, stopping at a clearing—the site of one of the mysteries they were investigating just on the outskirts of Schaumburg, “do you feel anything?”

Ryan stared up at him with wide hazel eyes, the pale moonlight pouring across his face, obscuring one side in a shadow. He touched the inside of Shane’s wrist gently, and Shane was half expecting a quip.

Ryan surged forward and kissed him.

Shane stumbled back, barely catching himself in time. Ryan’s one hand came around to cup his cheek, the other still holding his hand. Shane twitched against his mouth, “Bergara—“ he said through fits of laughter and Ryan’s increasingly persistent kisses, “Ryan.”

Ryan’s arms just linked around his neck as he continued to kiss him stubbornly, Shane becoming increasingly aware of the fact he has to stand on his tiptoes to reach his face.

They finally broke apart, Shane a complete mess, with pink dusting his cheeks, his hair all messy, face all kissed-out, wheezing into the night air.

What is happening to me? he scorned himself, the town’s most respected Sheriff acting like a teenager again.

Ryan bumped their noses together, jolting him back to reality.

“I—what? Ry, why—“ he stuttered, face ablaze.

Ryan laughed softly, “If you want the answers, then I offer a solution.”

Shane smirked, “Did you think of it with your little mind powers?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, “Shut up, Shane, and just kiss me, dammit.”

Shane shook his head, eyes crinkling as he smiled and leaned back down to cup his neck. How is this the same man that walked into his office five months ago claiming to be a psychic? Definitely not Shanes’s targeted type, and yet...

Embrace the deception, learn how to bend. Your worst inhibitions tend to psych you out in the end.


	2. Shyan Psych! AU OTP Preferences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some cute little insight into the quirks and habits of Shyan in this AU. :)

-After the murder, Shane has frequent nightmares about it. He tries to hide it, but Ryan can pick up on his emotions and hugs him every time he senses Shane having flashbacks.

-Ryan likes to hold Shane's hand. Shane blushes furiously every time he does it.

-Shane has an array of nicknames for Ryan, including ‘Little Guy,’ ‘Ghoul Boy,’ ‘Shortstack,’ etc. Ryan is less than amused.

-What really ends up eventually convincing Shane that Ryan is a psychic is not his uncanny ability to describe in extreme detail exactly what went down in some of the most difficult crime scenes, but the one time Ryan ordered him coffee exactly the way he likes it without asking him:

“Wow...you aren’t kidding about being a psychic, I’m sold!”

“Babe, that’s just love.”

“Bullshit!”

-Ryan secretly really has a thing for Shane in uniform, which Shane inevitably finds out about when he catches Ryan looking up at him blushing and with dilated pupils. 

-Shane then starts wearing the tie at home sometimes and fucks Ryan on the desk occasionally.

-Ryan lowkey finds his skepticism endearing and starts lovingly calling him “Grumpy Boy.”

-Sometimes Shane will work really hard on a case and Ryan hugs him and coaxes him to take a break.

-They frequently argue about who has the better Mob nickname:

“C.C. Tinsley makes you sound like a Christmas character!”

“Oh, like yours is any better! Ricky Goldsworth— who are you— Steven Lim?”

“You take that back!”

-Shane is lowkey a softie and loves cuddling Ryan when they’re alone.

-Ryan sometimes worries he’s not as good as a detective as Shane so Shane makes sure to boost his ego any chance he gets.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to @bluejaii for the prompt. Hope you liked it! This is my first fic for the fandom, so it’s not perfect yet. Click on the next chapter for some cute ‘OTP preferences’ for this AU. Thanks for reading! :)


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